It occurred to me, that Armok can be labeled, if a bit vaguely. Armok is not a singular entity, but a pervasive idea. Armok embodied is a dual faceted force.
The first is of destruction. Elf slaughter, kitten butchering, siege wrecking destruction. This extends to all areas. Vampire kill lists, elves devouring their fallen foes, goblins constructed their defeated into a grotesque statue, necromancers scouring the country with an army of undeath. All feel the sway of Armok's will and the impulse to cause violence.
The second is construction. Bridgeapults, drowning chambers, pump repeaters, perpetual motion generators, quantum stocking, vast systems of pipes and walls and architecture that defy the mind. The megaprojects themselves. This, as well, extends to all areas. Necromancer towers, goblin spires, human cities, elven... well, the elves are not the favored of Armok.
Dwarves, though, feel Armok's sway more than any other. A dwarf is driven to violence. A dwarf is compelled to produce. A dwarf delights, thrives even when building a device of violence. All creatures feel Armok's sway, the constructive humans and their mighty towns, the destructive goblins and their pillaging ways, and to a lesser extent the elven propensity for violence on their fallen enemies, and the humble kobold's courage to steal from an armed dwarven fortress. Dwarves though, feel this power more than any. A dwarf feels a constant throb of desire to fulfill violence and construction. There are times, though, that Armok's true influence is felt. Only once in a lifetime, or else they shall go utterly mad, a dwarf is struck by the mood that embodies these attributes stronger than any other. An artifact, an item of utter architecture bliss, wrought from a screaming dwarf's violent claiming of a workshop and any and all materials he sees fit. The purest embodiment of Armok, the blessed Artifacts.
Although, by nature, not all artifacts are made equal. Some of leather, some of stone, the material doesn't matter. Some dwarves sit secretly in their claimed corner, muttering as they piece together a robe. Some scream bloody terror as they ransack their space and forge anew an axe of untold glory. The violence of creation lends to the glory of design. There can be no great production without great loss.
I'm going to dedicate a fortress to the art of the Fell Mood. The purest form of Armok's pure influence, an artifact wrought from living flesh in a single act of beautiful violence, offering up an item of value and worth. There is, certainly, no more glorious thing in all the worlds as a series of fell moods.
The Cult of Bones, seeking to find purity in Armok through the purity of his influence.